Blood Eternal (17 page)
It wasn’t gory, because very little blood had been wasted, and yet somehow that seemed to add to the horror of the scene. The whole camp stank of rotting corpses. Flies buzzed around them, and the air, redolent with death, seemed to hang still and heavy and eerie.
Quelling her rebellious stomach, Elizabeth watched Saloman picking his way through the carnage, looking inside caravans and tents, lifting wrecked doors, discarded clothing, and even other bodies in order to gaze on the faces of the dead. Their pale skin seemed almost to glow in the darkness. For an instant, she saw him through the hunters’ eyes, a tall, beautiful angel of death moving gracefully, callously, among the victims of his kind.
Her throat constricted with the fear that always came with recognition of his sheer alienness. She couldn’t help but share the hunters’ horror, the outrage that held them tense and ready to lash out.
“And you tried to tell me there is good in these creatures.” Mihaela’s husky voice almost choked. “For God’s sake, where is the good in this?”
Saloman, having pulled a body free of the fallen caravan, rose to his feet. He didn’t look at Mihaela or Elizabeth, just at the white, rotting corpse. He said, “It is hard to envisage any circumstances in which this could be construed as good.”
“Like a certain farmhouse near Bistriţa?” Mihaela said harshly.
That wasn’t fair. Zoltán and his followers had committed those crimes in the farmhouse. The only life Saloman had taken was that of a woman already damaged beyond recovery by Zoltán’s vampires. But Elizabeth’s defense of him died in her throat unspoken, repressed by the current horror, or perhaps by the knowledge that whatever she said now would sound like an excuse.
“Yes,” said Saloman briefly.
Konrad spun away. “Tell Mustafa,” he ordered, marching back toward the car. István already had his phone in his hand.
Elizabeth said low, “The hunter network will arrange the burial.”
Saloman nodded once.
“Why?” Elizabeth said helplessly. “If, as you say, Luk’s memory is returning, and he’s hiding from you, why leave this open carnage behind him? Is he really that insane?”
Saloman gazed upward at the sky, almost as if he hoped to find an answer there. “Sanity is relative. I think he’s warning the hunters. And greeting me.”
“Like Leith?” Mihaela blurted. Leith, Scotland, where, last October, the corpses of four young men had been discovered with their throats torn and their blood drained.
“Yes,” Saloman said again, indifferently. “Like Leith.”
“Was Zoltán insane too?” Mihaela snapped.
“No. It was I who killed the men in Leith, and they were not innocent.”
Speechless, Mihaela stared from him to Elizabeth. “Jesus Christ,” she whispered at last, and, turning, she all but ran across the ground toward the car.
“Somehow,” said Saloman, “I think you’re back in the front seat.”
She stepped nearer to him and slid her hand into his. “If they don’t drive off without us.”
“Oh, they won’t do that. They still think I can find Luk. I can’t.”
Something in his voice alerted her, causing her to stare at him through the darkness. “And if you could,” she whispered, “would you?”
He said nothing, just began to walk after the others.
“Saloman.” She tightened her grip on his hand. “Saloman, why did you leave them at the cottage? Why did you come back to the villa?”
“Blood and sex. I wanted to make love to you.”
The smell, the horror behind them, all made this the wrong place. “You didn’t,” she managed.
“I’m still here. Unfortunately, so are the hunters, and I believe the sight of me fucking their friend among this carnage would ruin my chances of détente forever. I can’t imagine it would do me much good with you either.”
“Saloman—”
“I really don’t know where they are,” he interrupted. “They’re probably headed for Istanbul, but they won’t hang around long enough to be caught.”
Elizabeth released his hand. She felt cold.
As Saloman had predicted, all three hunters were huddled symbolically in the backseat. Elizabeth climbed in and fastened her belt. Saloman sat beside her, close enough to touch, yet distant enough to be on the other side of the world. He looked in his rearview mirror at the hunters. “Where to?”
“Do you know which road they took out of here?”
“This one.”
“Then follow it; see if you can pick up any more trails.”
Please, God, no more like this one.
Saloman started the car and drove on up the hill. Without any instruction from the hunters he avoided the fork in the road that led into the next village, and turned east. No one asked, but inexplicably the mood began to alter to one of hope, as if they imagined Saloman had picked up a trail after all.
But Saloman, it seemed, was still finding places of interest. As they passed a road sign, István said, “This is where they had the earthquake last winter.”
Earthquake.
Impulsively, Elizabeth turned to Saloman. The huge fact of Peru had gotten lost. She’d never even mentioned it to him. And now she didn’t know what to say, how to tell him she’d been going to run to him because she was so proud of him, that what he had done there had been so wonderful and she missed him so badly it was like not breathing. . . .
Impulsively, Elizabeth turned to Saloman. The huge fact of Peru had gotten lost. She’d never even mentioned it to him. And now she didn’t know what to say, how to tell him she’d been going to run to him because she was so proud of him, that what he had done there had been so wonderful and she missed him so badly it was like not breathing. . . .
His gaze never left the road. But his lips quirked slightly, almost forming a smile, as if he knew.
“I don’t remember that,” Mihaela said. The hunters tended to be single-minded, almost blinkered. Very often, major news passed them by, because they lived in a different twilight world. “Was it a bad one?”
“Bad enough. Wrecked a few villages, I think.”
“Bad,” Mihaela agreed. “This must be one of them.”
The village looked like a large building site. Many houses at various stages of completion had risen out of the rubble that still scattered the entire area. They surrounded a mosque that was still under construction. The minaret was built, though, and the inevitable loudspeakers clung to lampposts and new buildings, ready to pipe the call to prayer all around the village and nearby countryside. Although it was late, a few people still sat on their front steps, enjoying the cool of the night, watching their children play in the street or in their yards among the hens and goats.
A woman sitting outside her shop waved to them, beckoning, ever ready to seek out business, however meager.
“Ice cream?” Elizabeth suggested, with more levity than generosity.
But unexpectedly, Mihaela laughed in the backseat—a breathless, slightly sardonic sound. “Hell, yes. Ice cream is always good.”
Without comment, Saloman stopped the car. Although his face expressed no more than patience, Elizabeth sensed a certain tension in him that she associated with excitement. Before she could ask him if he knew the place, he opened his door and got out.
“Merhaba,”
the woman at the shop greeted them, smiling.
the woman at the shop greeted them, smiling.
“Merhaba.”
Elizabeth indicated the freezer that stood under the awning outside her shop. Although she’d picked up very few words of Turkish, she managed to make the transaction without resorting to Mihaela, who spoke the language fluently. By the time they began to eat the ices, Saloman was strolling back along the road toward the crossroads, where the half-built mosque was disgorging the faithful.
Elizabeth indicated the freezer that stood under the awning outside her shop. Although she’d picked up very few words of Turkish, she managed to make the transaction without resorting to Mihaela, who spoke the language fluently. By the time they began to eat the ices, Saloman was strolling back along the road toward the crossroads, where the half-built mosque was disgorging the faithful.
“Where’s he going?” Mihaela asked uneasily. “Shit, he’s not—” She broke off, but the unspoken words still hung in the air:
He’s not going to bite someone, is he?
He’s not going to bite someone, is he?
A young boy, maybe ten years old, came out of the mosque with his father, looking bored while the adults stopped and talked. He began to move toward Saloman, who was wandering around apparently admiring the building work.
Without a word, Mihaela strode down the road, instantly in hunter mode. As the men followed, Elizabeth swore under her breath and went too, if only to try to prevent a scene. She could have told them, if only they’d waited to hear, that Saloman did not feed from children. The adults he certainly regarded as fair game, but he wouldn’t kill them.
Once, this fact, that he wouldn’t kill them, hadn’t mattered much to Elizabeth. The biting, the drinking, the invasion of another body, had appalled her regardless of whether it led ultimately to death. Somewhere along the line, that view had gotten lost. Possibly when biting and blood drinking had become associated for her with sex, with love.
Perhaps Mihaela was right: She was losing herself and her principles, slowly but surely condoning everything he did because, whatever that was, she couldn’t stop loving him. Was that slavery?
The boy and Saloman stood in the shadow of the mosque as they approached. The boy’s smile was so wide it threatened to split his face, and he was chattering away as if Saloman were his oldest friend. She heard Saloman ask a question in Turkish, which the boy answered in another fast-firing stream before taking Saloman’s hand and giving it a tug. Using his other hand, the boy waved it around the entire village, still talking and grinning.
Mihaela stopped suddenly, and Konrad walked into her heels. She looked so mesmerized that Elizabeth said, “What? What is it?”
Before Mihaela could answer, the man who seemed to be the boy’s father came hurrying over, and Elizabeth tensed, expecting an argument of some kind. But the man went straight up to Saloman and embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks. His voice was loud in obvious welcome, and Saloman seemed to be hushing him, excusing himself almost.
The man stood back, arms wide, still smiling, but understanding. He spoke to his son, who objected vociferously and then sighed. Turning back to Saloman, he carried the vampire’s hand to his lips and then his forehead.
“Jesus Christ,” Konrad breathed in clear disgust. “They’ve just finished praying! Can’t they sense what he is?”
“Oh, they know what he is,” Mihaela said unsteadily. “He’s their savior. He’s been here before—last winter before the earthquake came.”
Elizabeth stared at her, mirroring, no doubt, the gawping of the other hunters.
Mihaela said, “That’s what they’re remembering and talking about, the boy and his father. Saloman persuaded them to leave before it happened, hired vans and cars to ferry the villagers down to the town, which was barely touched by the shock. Their homes were destroyed, but he seems to have done something about helping them rebuild. Supplied men and materials, I think. I didn’t quite catch that bit. But there’s no doubt he’s their hero. They’d be organizing a feast for him right now, with the entire village present, except he’s refusing. He says he just came to make sure things were going well for them.”
Of course he did.
It made perfect sense. Had he come that winter because he’d sensed the earthquake? Or had he come to pay his respects at the tomb of the cousin he’d killed? It didn’t matter. He’d saved them, without any of the publicity surrounding his Peruvian rescue, which made her think it had been spur-of-the-moment.
It made perfect sense. Had he come that winter because he’d sensed the earthquake? Or had he come to pay his respects at the tomb of the cousin he’d killed? It didn’t matter. He’d saved them, without any of the publicity surrounding his Peruvian rescue, which made her think it had been spur-of-the-moment.
“I don’t believe that,” Konrad protested. “The woman at the shop didn’t bat an eyelid when he passed her.”
“He was masking,” Elizabeth said. “Incognito.”
“Then how come the boy and his father can see him?”
“He let them.”
“Why?” István asked.
It was a good question, and one she probably knew the answer to. He meant the hunters to witness this, a perfect contrast to the carnage in the Gypsy camp committed by his enemies. Perhaps he really had come to check on the village’s recovery, to speak to a couple of special friends while he was in the area, but certainly he would use the “fringe benefits,” as he always did.
“The boy loves him,” Mihaela said slowly. “They both do. It’s not just gratitude, is it?”
Oddly enough, she seemed to be asking Elizabeth. Elizabeth cleared her throat. “No,” she said. “Not just gratitude.”
Mihaela turned to face her. “How do you do it?” she said. “How do you keep your head straight while he turns from the death monster of the camp to this?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. “He isn’t a death monster. He’d never do what Luk and Dante did. Although he could, if he felt it was right. His morality isn’t ours, but it
is
there, and he isn’t evil.”
is
there, and he isn’t evil.”
When the bombardment of angry protest didn’t hit her, she opened her eyes again. Saloman, having said good-bye to the father and son, was now the center of the little group outside the mosque, like a prince gracious enough to greet his overfamiliar subjects. The hunters were gazing at the scene as if they couldn’t look away.
Elizabeth said, “It’s not the only time he’s done this. Didn’t you hear about Peru?”
They looked at her. István frowned. “The Peruvian earthquake last week? It was a big one, far bigger than this.”
“But nobody died. Admittedly the population of the region wasn’t huge either, but he got them to safety too.”
“Did he tell you that?” Konrad asked cynically.
“No. There’s video footage. It’s probably on YouTube by now. I’ll show you when we go back. But—”
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